IC-MRLF 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

OIKT  OR 

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Accession  No.  fo 3 v £*-£-' ('Cla&s  No. 


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•  -  (Seraibine 


SemuflDontbl?  tetter 

SAN  JOSE,  CALIF. 


DEDICATION. 


Unto  all  those  whose  love  hath  helped  to  make 

Music  within  my  soul,  I  dedicate 

These  few  stray  notes.    First  unto  those  who  e  love 

Hath  compassed  me  about  from  year  to  year, 

Making  me  strong  where  else  I  had  been  weak, 

Making  me  sing  when  else  I  should  have  wept; 

Yet  hardly  less  to  those  who,  passing  by, 

Have  given  me  a  blessing  as  they  passed, 

And  wished  me  well;  for  whether  love  be  long, 

Or  linger  but  a  moment,  either  way 

It  waketh  music  in  the  soul  beloved. 

So,  and  not  otherwise,  these  songs  were  made; 

Faint  echoes  of  diviner  harmony. 

O  ye,  whose  love  first  called  them  into  life, 

Accept  these  songs  as  token  of  my  love, 

For  love's  sake  overlooking  all  their  faults. 


Songs  of  a  f  ool 


BY  GERALDINE  MEYRICK. 


His  pleading  voice  arose:     "O  Lord, 
Be  merciful  to  me,  a  fool!" 

Edward  Rowland  Sill. 


SAN  JOSE,  CALIFORNIA; 
1895. 


Weird  of  gesture,  and  strange  of  speech, 

A  Fool  am  I,  in  motley  dressed; 
I  have  no  mind  for  the  wise  to  teach, 

No  soul,  to  be  banned  or  blessed; 
For  the  Truth  men  praise,  and  the  Love  men  preach 

I  hold  them  both  a  jest. 

Merry  am  I,  as  one  should  be 

Who  serveth  a  gracious  king; 
Good  meat,  good  wine,  they  are  never  free, 

So  mirth  is  the  price  I  bring; 
And  the  wide  world's  woe  it  is  naught  to  me, 

As  loud  I  laugh  and  sing. 


II. 

WASSAII,. 


Come,  drink  a  health  to  Folly, 

And  all  her  merry  train; 
Farewell  to  Melancholy, 

And  wit-benumbing  Pain; 
A  Fool's  life  should  be  jolly, 

Or  else  he  lives  in  vain. 

Let  laugluer  follow  laughter, 

No  sign  of  sorrow  fall; 
Shake  every  beam  and  rafter, 

Make  tremble  every  wall; 
For  who  knows  what  conies  after? 

Who  knows  when  Death  may  call  ? 

We  all  are  Fools  together, 

Not  one  of  us  is  wise; 
We  prophecy  the  weather, 

We  lecture  on  the  skies; 
To-night  we  know  not  whether 

The  morrow's  sun  shall  rise. 

So  drink  a  health  to  Folly, 

And  all  her  merry  train; 
Farewell  to  Melancholv, 

And  wit-benumbing  Pain; 
A  Fool's  life  should  be  jolly, 

Or  else  he  lives  in  vain. 


III. 

REVERIE. 


They  call  me  a  Fool,  and  little  I  know; 
Neither  whence  I  came,  nor  whither  I  go; 
Neither  what  I  am,  nor  may  hope  to  be, 
When  time  is  lost  in  eternity. 


And  yet — so  long  as  I  dwell  upon  earth, 
There  shall  not  be  lacking  the  sounds  of  mirth; 
For  wherever  I  go  comes  a  gaping  crowd, 
And  whatever  I  do  there  is  laughter  loud; 
Laughter  that  half  conceals  a  sneer, 
Though  sometimes  I  fancy  it  covers  a  tear. 
But  little  care  I,  for  pity  or  scorn; 
This,  only,  troubles  me:     Why  was  I  born, 
To  be  called  a  Fool,  and  little  to  know, 
Neither  whence  I  came,  nor  whither  I  go, 
Neither  what  I  am,  nor  may  hope  to  be, 
When  time  is  lost  in  eternity. 


IV. 
MY  I,ADY. 


Fain  would  I  paint  my  Lady  as  she  is; 
But  that  no  artist's  hand  could  rightly  do, 
Far  less  a  Fool's;  so  here's  the  best  I  can. 

Glad  is  my  Lady,  with  the  joy  that  springs 

From  holy  thoughts  and  hopes;  and  merry,  too, 

Knowing  that  in  the  end  things  will  go  well. 

But  yet  I  know  that  she  hath  realized, 

Hath  suffered,  as  all  noble  souls  must  do, 

The  very  utter  agonies  of  life; 

Which  suffering  never  wholly  leaves  her  heart, 

Making  her  graver  than  she  else  might  be. 

My  Lady  is  so  far  above  the  world, 

Its  petty  meanness  cannot  touch  her  soul. 

She  dreams  not  of  the  biting  taunts  and  sneers 

That  make  up  more  than  half  a  poor  Fool's  life. 

The  selfish  grasping  of  the  newly  rich, 

The  sordid  saving  of  the  hopeless  poor, 

All  the  debasing  troubles  of  base  hearts, 

Are  hid  from  her  by  her  own  nobleness. 

Words  are  so  weak !    Her  face,  so  calmly  sweet; 
Her  gold-brown  hair,  the  sunbeams  love  so  well; 
Her  eyes,  of  heaven's  blue,  that  see  so  far; 
All  these  surpass  description.    I  will  keep 
Her  image  in  my  heart,  and  honor  it 
In  reverential  silence,  evermore. 


V. 
REVELATION. 


Would  you  know  the  way  that  my  Lady  came  ? 
In  the  midst  of  a  careless  crowd  I  stood, 
Re-making  old  jests  that  they  counted  good: 
'Twas  the  way  that  I  earned  my  livelihood. 

When  all  of  a  sudden  a  sense  of  shame 

Startled  my  soul,  set  my  face  a-flame, 

And  just  at  that  moment  my  Lady  came. 

We  were  on  the  lawn;  'twas  a  summer  day; 

In  soft,  cool  white  was  my  Lady  dressed; 

My  cheeks  burned  like  fire;  I  felt  oppressed; 

And  my  audience,  seeing  me  so  distressed, 
Laughed  louder  yet,  till  I  heard  one  say: 
"Silence!     My  Lady  will  walk  this  way." 
How  the  sun  does  burn  on  a  summer  day ! 

Well,  my  Lady  took  pity  on  me,  a  Fool, 
And  she  led  me  away  to  a  quiet  glade, 
Where  slow-growing  oaks  made  a  welcome  shade, 
Then  her  hand  on  my  shoulder  so  gently  laid, 

And  showed  me  a  stream  with  a  rocky  pool; 

And  lo !  in  its  depths,  serene  and  cool, 

I  looked  on  myself  as  I  was,  a  Fool ! 

I  looked,  and  I  shuddered.     I  had  been  blind; 
Had  given  no  guess,  when  men  laughed  at  me, 
My  looks,  not  my  wit,  had  aroused  their  glee. 
Why !  my  cap  and  bells  were  a  sight  to  see. 

Now,  thanks  to  my  Lady,  so  wise,  so  kind, 

A  part  of  my  follj  is  left  behind— 

I  still  am  a  Fool,  but  no  longer  blind. 


VI. 
SONGS. 

When  e'er  my  Lady  smiles  on  me. 

It  seems  as  if  the  world  grew  bright 
With  sudden  glory;  earth  and  sea 
Swim  in  a  golden  flood  of  light; 

And  nothing  common  seems,  nor  vile, 
Illumined  by  my  Lacty's  smile. 

When  e'er  my  Lady  deigns  to  speak, 

The  world,  methinks,  must  needs  rejoice; 
The  nightingale  grow  still  and  meek, 
Hearing  the  music  of  her  voice; 

And  when  to  me  her  speech  is  given, 
I  deem  mvself  not  far  from  heaven. 


It  is  not  true  that  love  is  blind. 

The  soul  that  loveth  well  can  see 

Away  into  eternity; 
And  if  it  looketh  not  behind, 

Nor  heedeth  much  the  things  that  are, 

'Tis  but  because  it  sees  so  far; 
Love  is  not  blind,  love  is  not  blind. 


VII. 
OFFERED. 


I  flare  not  say  I  am  wholly  thine, 

Though  so  intense  my  love; 
I  may  not  give  what  is  not  mine, 
And  e'en  a  Fool  hath  a  soul  divine, 
Marked  with  a  seal  and  a  holy  sign 

As  belonging  to  God  above. 

But  all  I  have,  unto  thee  I  bring, 

To  keep,  or  to  cast  away; 
A  song,  as  sweet  as  a  Fool  can  sing: 
Love,  that  is  pure  as  a  white  dove's  wing; 
Humble,  indeed,  is  the  offering 

I  have  laid  at  thy  feet  to-day. 


VIII. 
MY  I,ADY  AND  I. 


My  Lady  and  I  went  walking  one  day, 

In  the  early  Autumn,  when  days  grow  cool; 

My  Lady  was  beautiful,  bright  and  gay; 
And  I— well,  I  was  a  Fool. 

As  we  stood  on  a  cliff,  with  the  sea  below, 
There  were  fleecy  clouds  in  the  sky  above; 

And  I — I  was  only  a  Fool,  you  know, — 
I  tried  to  tell  her  my  love. 

I  remember,  well,  that  the  skies  were  blue, 

Yet  the  wind  from  the  North  came  somewhat  cool, 

As  my  Lady  laughed.    What  else  could  she  do, 
Since  I  was  only  a  Fool  ? 

And  I  know,  had  she  acted  otherwise, 

Left  the  holy  height  upon  which  she  was  born, 

And  come  down  to  me, — in  sudden  surprise 
My  love  would  have  turned  to  scorn. 

Ah  yes !    I  am  sure  it  was  better  so; 

Much  better  for  her  that  she  laughed,  unmoved; 
As  for  me,  though  still  but  a  Fool,  you  know, 

I  am  wiser  for  having  loved. 


IX. 
I,OVE  SCORNED. 

I  cast  my  love  at  my  Lady's  feet; 

With  a  look  of  scorn  she  passed  it  by, 
And  left  it  there,  to  wither  and  die,— 

The  love  I  had  found  so  strangely  sweet. 

But  I  looked  at  it,  lying  low  in  the  dust, 

And  thought  of  the  joy  it  had  brought  to  me; 
Then  hid  it  away,  where  none  might  see, 

And  bade  it  live  on,  as  true  love  must. 

Deep  hid  in  my  heart  from  each  curious  eye, 
Like  a  quiet  monk  of  the  olden  days, 
Forever  it  chanteth  my  Lady's  praise 

Though  she  heedeth  not  if  it  live  or  die. 


X. 
IN  THE  NIGHT. 


Why  was  I  born  ?    Did  God  look  on  the  earth, 

See  its  great  pain,  and  its  endless  woe: 
Then,  to  relieve  mankind  with  mirth, 
Make  me  a  Fool  from  the  day  of  my  birth  ? 
Should  I  murmur  if  that  were  so? 

Is  it  worth  the  trouble  of  life,  the  pain, 

Constant  and  keen,  just  to  bring  a  smile 

Into  tear-worn  eyes  ?     Has  my  life  been  vain  ? 

Often  1  ask,  now  it's  on  the  wane, 

Has  it  really  been  quite  worth  while? 

Yea.     God  is  wise,  and  He  placed  me  here, 

P>'en  as  I  am,  a  Fool,  a  jest. 
And  a  thorough  Fool  I  have  been !     'Tis  clear 
No  piece  of  folly  was  shirked  !     What  fear 

Need  I  feel,  having  done  my  best  ? 


XL 
DAWN. 


It  will  not  last  alway.     A  change  will  come; 

This  weary  soul  will  fall  asleep  one  night, 
These  stamm'ring  lips  will  someshort  while  be  dumb, 
Then  wake  to  utter  truth;  a  holy  light 

Will  brighten  these  dull,  foolish  eyes  of  mine, 
And  I  shall  stand  erect,  a  soul  divine. 

A  soul  divine!    A  feeble  Fool  no  more, 

But  one  of  God's  own  angels.    Ah,  that  day 
Is  long  in  coming;  distant  is  the  shore 

I  long  so  much  to  reach,  and  hard  the  way 
I  needs  must  travel;  yet  I  will  not  fear; 
A  Fool.  I  know  but  this,  that  God  is  near. 


XII. 
SENT  FORTH  ON  ERRAND  HIGH. 


When  first  the  King's  word  came  to  me,  that  I 

Should  cross  the  sea,  bearing  to  foreign  lands 

Tokens  of  his  good  will,  and  high  esteem — 

When  first,  I  say,  his  message  came  to  me, 

I  marvelled  somewhat  that  the  King  should  jest 

With  such  solemnity.    But  none  the  less, 

I  laid  aside  my  cap  and  bells,  and  all 

The  livery  of  foolishness;  washed  out 

The  ghastly,  painted  smile  that  mocked  my  thoughts 

Then  went  anJ  bowed  myself  before  the  King. 

"Sire,  I  am  prepared  to  go,"  I  said, 
"Wherever  thou  shalt  bid."    He,  kindly  eyed, 
Laid  his  white  hand  upon  my  hair,  and  spake  • 
"Because  I  see  that  love  has  touched  thine  heart, 
And  because  whoso  loveth  is  no  fool, 
Therefore  I  charge  thee,  lay  aside  thy  jests; 
And  gravely,  as  becomes  a  man  who  wears 
This  token  of  his  sovereign's  love  and  trust, 
Carry  my  greetings  where  I  may  not  go." 

With  that,  he  placed  upon  my  trembling  hand 
A  signet  ring.    And  then, — I  know  not  what 
Folio  wed,  except  that  faces  crowded  round, 
And  many  grasped  my  hand,  and  wished  me  well. 
But,  all  the  time,  I  only  saw  one  face, 
Radiantly  fair,  and  only  heard  one  voice, 
As  low  my  Lady  murmured:    "Have  no  fear, 
But  trust  thyself  as  others  trust  in  thee." 


XIII. 
AT  SEA. 


Fall  fast,  O  rain. 
Lift  up  your  crests,  ye  seas. 
And  wail,  O  stormy  wind, 
Across  the  strand. 
I,  also,  am  in  pain, 
Restless  and  ill  at  ease, 
Because  I  leave  behind 
My  native  land. 

Be  still,  wild  heart. 
Why  shouldst  thou  thus  complain 
Of  what  is  done  for  thee 
By  those  who  rule  ? 
Hard  it  is,  now,  to  part; 
Sweet  to  return  again, 
Knowing  that  thou  shalt  be 
No  more  a  Fool. 

I  will  not  fear. 

Since  'tis  rny  Lady's  will, 

Since  'tis  my  King's  behest 

That  I  should  leave 

All  that  I  hold  most  dear, 

Hard  though  the  task  be,  still, 

Knowing  that  they  know  best, 

I  will  not  grieve. 


XIV. 
A  FOOVS  BENEDICTION. 

That  day  you  held  my  life  in  your  hand, 
To  make,  or  mar,  as  pleased  you  best, 

And  laughed  to  find  it  at  your  command, 
Did  you  think  my  love  a  jest  ? 

Nay,  for  your  life  was  not  unkind ; 

You  took  my  soul,  such  a  senseless  clod, 
You  touched  the  eyes,  before  so  blind, 

And  showed  me  the  living  God. 

You  found  me  deaf,  so  sang  a  song 

That  thrilled  my  being  until  I  heard  ; 

You  saved  the  soul,  that  was  going  wrong 
For  want  of  a  warning  word. 

So  when  I  hear  the  thing  that's  true, 

And  see  the  thing  that's  pure  and  fair, 

I  praise  you,  well  as  a  Fool  can  do, 
And  loud  as  a  Fool  mav  dare. 


XV. 
AT  EVENTIDE. 

My  heart  cries  out  for  thee  at  eventide, 

When  the  glad  sunlight  fadeth  from  the  west ; 

And  all  ray  soul  is  filled  with  strange  unrest ; 
I  long  for  thee,  and  care  for  naught  beside, 

At  eventide. 
Alone  I  look  upon  the  evening  star; 

'T  was  thou  first  taught  me  all  its  perfect  grace. 

And  now, — I  stand  alone  in  this  strange  place, 
Where  thou  hast  never  been.     Thou  art  so  far, 

Mine  evening  star. 

Thou  art  mine  evening  star ;  so  pure,  so  bright, 
So  altogether  holy.     My  poor  love 
Scarce  loucheth  thee,  thou  art  so  far  above ; 

Yet  is  my  soul  all  radiant  with  thy  light, 

So  pure,  so  bright. 


XVI. 
IN 


I  ask  not  praise;  and  yet,  if  you  should  say 
My  life,  so  far,  had  not  been  all  in  vain, 

I  fancy  I  could  go  upon  my  -way 
Toward  the  grave,  nor  feel  the  bitter  pain 

That  now  eats  out  my  heart.    I  ask  not  love ; 

Yet  if,  just  once,  you  kissed  my  aching  brow 
And  said:  "Dear  heart!"  while  stars  shoneout  above, 

Why,  I  might  be  less  sorrowful  than  now. 

Alone  I  walk,  on  barren,  wind-swept  hills, 
Where  neither  love  nor  praise  my  soul  can  know. 

Well,  I  must  be  content  with  what  God  wills, 
Nor  leave  the  path  whereon  He  bade  me  go. 


XVII. 
LAMENTATION. 


Only  one  year  has  passed,  a  long,  sad  year, 
Since  I,  from  foreign  lands,  came  to  my  home; 
Scarce  knowing  why  I  came,  save  that  I  yearned 
To  see  again  my  Lady's  perfect  grace, 
To  hear,  once  more,  her  voice,  so  dearly  loved — 
Ah,  woe  is  me,  how  silent  is  the  tomb! 
Somewhat  I  longed,  beside,  to  see  the  King; 
Somewhat  I  hoped,  perhaps,  to  win  his  praise, 
Seeing  I  brought  him  that  which  he  had  sought, 
The  friendship  of  great  kings  beyond  the  sea. 
Too  clearly  now  his  praises  come  to  me, 
Like  bridal  bells  that  mock  a  funeral  train. 

All  unannounced  I  came  into  the  Court. 

No  warder  stood  without  the  castle  gate, 

No  courtiers,  gaily  dressed,  thronged  through  the  halls, 

But  all  was  echoing  emptiness  and  woe. 

Sudden  the  deep-toned  chapel  bell  rang  out, 

And  swiftly  to  the  chapel  did  I  go, 

Fearful  of  some  strange  grief.     Before  the  door 

Kneeled  a  vast  crowd ;  lords,  ladies,  serving  men 

And  maidens,  all  in  tears  and  misery. 

Through  them  I  pushed  my  way.    What  lay  beyond  ? 

A  nameless  terror  seized  upon  my  soul. 

Fast  to  the  front  I  strode,  and  lo  !  the  King, 

The  Queen,  most  gracious,  and  a  hundred  knights, 

With  bowed  heads,  kneeled  upon  the  stony  floor, 

Weeping  and  praying.     And,  in  front  of  them, 

0  fairest  face !     0  sinless  soul !     I  saw 

An  open  coffin,  and  within  it  lay, 

So  calm,  so  still,  like  to  a  carven  stone, 

My  Lady.    Oh,  so  very  calm  and  still, 

Even  the  cry  of  agony  which  rose 

Straight  from  my  wounded  heart,  aroused  her  not. 


Why  did  they  silence  me,  and  lead  me  thence  ? 
Never  my  soul  cried  out  to  her  in  vain. 
She  did  not  hear  me,  that  first  time  I  cried. 
A  little  patience,  and  she  would  have  heard  ; 
A  little  patience,  and  she  would  have  smiled, 
And  said  the  word  that  it  was  best  to  say. 

To-day  the  grass  is  green  above  her  grave ; 
To-day  wild  roses,  sweetest  violets, 
With  birds  that  gaily  sing,  make  glad  the  vale 
Wherein  she  sleeps.     But  not  at  all  my  grief 
Lessens  or  fades. 

Wonder  3-6  why  I  weep  ? 
Because  my  Lady's  gentle  voice  is  hushed, 
Because  her  so  fair  face  is  seen  no  more, 
The  world  to  me  is  all  a  dreary  waste. 
O  Lad3'  of  my  love !     My  guiding  star ! 
The  one  light  of  my  life !     Since  thou  art  gone, 
Darkness  has  overtaken  all  the  earth, 
And  in  the  gloom  my  spirit  faiuts  and  falls. 


XVIII. 
I,OYE  RECOMPENSED. 


"  If  it  should  chance  that  he  should  mourn  for  me 

Longer  than  others  ;  or  if,  any  way, 

He  showeth  that  he  loveth,  give  to  him 

This  message  Death  hath  made  me  bold  to  speak : 

Dear,  I  have  loved  thee  long.    And  now — I  go 

Whither  no  mortal  knows.     Yet  do  not  grieve. 

I  have  but  gone  before  a  little  way. 

Beyond  the  barriers  of  flesh  and  sense, 

My  doubts,  thy  follies,  passed  and  overcome, 

We  two  shall  surely  meet,  and  surely  know 

The  perfect  bliss  that  comes  ofperlect  love" 

Such  words  my  Lady  spake  unto  the  Queen 
Upon  the  very  day  her  soul  took  flight. 
Such  words  the  Queen  has  spoken  unto  me 
To-night,  beneath  the  stars;  after  a  year 
Of  doubt,  of  desolation  and  despair, 
Had  proved  me  true,  deserving  of  her  trust. 
Yea  here,  upon  the  C3'press-circled  lawn 
Where  first  my  Lady  came  to  me,  I  heard 
The  last  words  she  had  uttered  upon  earth. 

I,  who  had  hoped  for  naught,  received  so  much ! 

The  promise  of  her  love !     0  stars  that  shine ; 

0  fleecy  clouds  fast  floating  o'er  the  sky ; 

O  moaning  trees,  that  lift  high  arms  to  heaven  ; 

0  steadfast  hills,  unmoved  witnesses 

Of  such  great  happiness ;  witness  this  too  : 

That  here  and  now  my  spirit  doth  resolve 

To  prove  full  worthy  of  my  Lady's  love ! 

THE  END. 


®tbcr  tDerece. 


MORNING. 


'T  is  dawn;  the  voices  of  the  night  are  stilled, 

The  voices  of  the  day  have  not  yet  come. 

Above,  the  glory  of  the  stars  is  dimmed, 

A  soft  gray  light  is  over  land  and  sea. 

But,  even  as  I  look,  the  sun's  flame  burns 

The  East  to  sudden  red  ;  swift,  golden  rays 

Shoot  upward,  bright  precursors  of  the  orb 

That  follows  fast;  then,  from  one  small  brown  bird, 

Who  sits  and  sways  upon  the  pine  tree's  top, 

There  falls  a  flood  of  song;  so  sweet,  so  clear, 

It  seems  as  if  an  angel  leaned  from  heaven 

And  touched  his  harp.    Thus  sweetly  doth  he  sing, 

Till  all  his  mates  are  wakened  and  sing  too, 

Wrapping  the  earth  in  boundless  melody. 

So  is  the  new  day  born,  midst  hymns  of  praise, 

And  the  sweet  incense  of  most  perfect  sound. 

Swiftly  the  scene  has  changed ;  the  sea  that  lay 
In  misty  slumber  one  short  moment  since, 
Now  gleams  and  glistens  in  the  sun's  glad  light. 
And  look,  a  white  sail  dances  o'er  the  waves, 
Bearing  brave  fishers,  who  have  toiled  since  eve, 
To  home  and  rest.    The  hills,  that  looked  before 
Like  darker  clouds  the  sun  would  soon  disperse, 
Now  show  their  outlines  sharp  against  the  sky; 
Only  in  sheltered  valleys,  here  and  there, 
The  soft  white  mist  lingers  a  little  while. 
Too  soon  the  birds  grow  still,  and  common  sounds, 
The  crow  of  cocks,  the  hum  of  busy  bees, 
Perchance  the  gentle  lowing  of  the  cows 
Calling  the  sleepy  milkers  from  their  beds, 
Proclaim  the  world  awake.    Night  hath  flown  far 
Beyond  the  seas,  and  every  living  thing 
Gives  welcome  to  the  glory  of  the  day. 


EVENING. 


The  earth  is  hushed,  for  it  is  eventide. 

As  yet  there  are  no  stars,  nor  hath  the  moon, 

Endymion's  one  love,  yet  deigned  to  show 

Celestial  face  unto  the  waiting  world. 

There  are  no  sounds,  save  one  weird  night-bird's  call, 

And  one  lone  cricket's  chirp;  all  else  is  still. 

Even  the  grasses  cease  their  rustling  sigh, 

And  bow  their  heads  as  if  they  thought  of  God. 

But  lo!  the  South  breathes  gently,  and  her  breath. 

Sweet  with  the  scent  of  flowers,  bears  with  it 

Faint  echoes  of  a  distant  vesper  bell. 

The  spell  is  o'er.    From  out  the  deepening  blue 

One  silver  star  shines  forth ;  then,  far  away, 

The  other  side  of  heaven's  wide  domain, 

Rises  the  moon.    The  grasses  lift  their  heads 

To  whisper:    "She  hath  come."    Flowers  that  sleep 

Sway  to  and  fro,  half  waking  from  their  dreams, 

And  offer  up  sweet  incense  to  their  Queen. 

A  thousand  trivial  sounds  now  greet  the  ear ; 

Soft,  fitful  breezes  stir  the  cool,  green  leaves; 

The  mystery  of  night  is  o'er  the  earth. 


,  1892. 


Dark  is  the  earth ;  but  all  the  western  sky 
Is  bright  with  sunset  tints,  and  in  the  east 
The  full  orbed  moon  is  rising :  while  between 
The  two  horizons,  some  few  silver  stars 
Appear  and  disappear  amid  the  blue. 


Dark  is  the  earth ;  and  oh !  so  dark  the  way 
Wherein  I  walk !    But  through  the  gloom  my  soul 
Looks  up  to  where  the  lights  of  heaven  shine ; 
The  light  of  Love,  a  gleam  of  reddened  gold ; 
The  light  of  Truth,  calm  as  the  placid  moon; 
And  'twixt  the  two,  the  scattered,  changeful  lights 
Of  great  souls  gone  from  earth  to  shine  above, 
And  come  and  go  about  the  throne  of  God. 


A  PROTEST. 


"  To-day  will  die  to-morrow, 

Time  stoops  to  no  man's  lure." 

Swinburne. 

"  To-day  will  die  to-morrow."    So  he  says 
Who  weaveth  words  all  wondrously  ;  yet  I 

Can  call  to  memory  unnumbered  days 

That  through  unnumbered  ages  shall  not  die. 

And  e'en  he  adds:    "Time  stoops  to  no  man's  lure." 

Too  easily  flows  on  the  facile  line ; 
Here  also,  Bard,  thy  saying  was  not  sure; 

Why,  there  are  even  flower-like  songs  of  thine 

That  shall  with  subtle  sweetness  so  beguile 

The  ancient  Mower,  that  his  scythe  must  be 

Turned  from  them ;  some  may  live  but  little  while ; 
A  few  have  blossomed  for  eternity. 

With  deathless  yesterdays  the  world  is  filled  ; 

Their  influence  on  every  hand  we  find ; 
Days  whose  vast  meaning  through  the  world  hath 
thrilled 

Shaping  the  destiny  of  all  mankind. 

And  many  men  have  lured  Time  to  halt, 

And  stayed  Oblivion ;  some,  more  daring  yet, 

Defying  Time  with  sudden,  sharp  assault, 

On  heights  of  deathless  fame  their  names  have  set. 

Ah !  thou  wast  weary  when  that  song  was  sung ; 

Weary  of  days  and  men,  desires  and  dreams; 
Else  had  thy  tuneful  note  more  truly  rung, 

And  told  of  Life  that  is,  not  Death  that  seeifls, 


INSPIRATION. 


The  time  has  not  yet  come !    I  fain  would  sing 

A  song  should  rouse  men  from  their  shameful  rest, 
And  set  them  marching ;  make  the  laggard  spring 

Quick  to  his  feet,  seeking  the  thing  that's  best, 
Whate'er  it  be,  stern  Truth,  or  gracious  Love. 

But  till  the  hour  shall  come,  no  strength  is  mine  ; 
1  wait  a  signal  from  the  Power  above, 

I  wait  an  echo  of  the  Voice  divine. 
Until  that  echo  sound,  I  can  but  wait, 
Nursing  in  silence  all  my  love  and  hate ; 
Love  of  the  good,  deep  hate  of  every  wrong, 
These  shall  increase  until  they  rise  to  song ; 
Then  louder,  clearer,  than  a  trumpet-blast, 
My  voice  shall  rouse  the  sleeping  world  at  last. 


TO  A  FRIEND. 


Across  the  land,  across  the  sea, 
This  letter  swiftly  speeds,  dear  friend  ; 

A  white-winded  witness  unto  thee 

Of  love,  that,  through  eternity, 
Shall  never  alter,  never  end. 

Though  for  so  short  a  time  we  met, 
Think  not  the  meeting  was  in  vain  ; 

I  have  no  fear  lest  you  forget — 

Our  feet  toward  one  goal  are  set, 
And  we  shall  surely  meet  again. 

Somewhat  apart  our  lives  must  be ; 

Thou  fain  wouldst  know ;  I  fain  would  love ; 
I  long  to  feel,  whilst  thou  wouldst  see, 
The  deeply  hid  Divinity 

That  thrills  the  world  and  makes  it  move. 

By  different  ways  we  seek  one  end  ; 

Which  way  is  best  I  cannot  tell ; 
But  now,  while  still  apart,  dear  friend, 
This  letter  unto  thee  I  send, 

To  let  thee  know  I  love  thee  well. 


SANTA  CRU3. 


At  oft,  in  days  of  chivalry,  a  knight 

Upon  his  shield  would  grave  his  Lady's  name, 
And  bear  it  ever  with  him  in  the  fight, 

That,  if  his  valor  should  achieve  him  fame, 
Where'er  his  praise  was  told,  'twould  added  be: 

"  To  such  a  maiden  he  avowed  his  love, 
As  being  worthy ;"  so  I,  loving  thee, 

Fair  Santa  Cruz,  with  thy  blue  skies  above, 
Thy  flowing  streams,  and  hill-encircled  sea ; 

Would  fain  so  weave  thy  name  into  my  song 
That  they  might  never  wholly  parted  be ; 

But  if  my  verses  chanced  to  please  the  throng, 
No  one  could  doubt  that  'twas  thy  loveliness 
Lent  unto  them  such  grace  as  they  possess. 


I 


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